Truly Madly Deeply
by Hamtaro23
Summary: Because truly, madly, deeply is the only way to describe there love. Royai 100 Themes.
1. Weapon

Royai 100. Here I go. Hopefully, I'll make it to all 100 themes this time. Fingers crossed!

The title 'Truly Madly Deeply' is borrowed from the Savage Garden song of the same name. I think it fits them really well. ;)

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**Weapon**

She is a photographer: each pull of the trigger is a click of shutter, each falling body is light captured by the silver of her memories, each photograph is guilt burned into her conscience. Watching him through the lens of her camera, from the windows of bombed buildings and crumbling church towers, she is his killer angel.

He is a painter: each snap of his fingers is a brushstroke of blood, each burnt corpse is the crush of charcoal against his desert canvas, each painting is anguish etched into the portrait of his being. The sky bleeds red in the aftermath of his destruction as he begs for absolution. He is her unborn hope.


	2. Telephone

This one is a little more comical.

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**Telephone**

"You know, technically, we had phone sex once." He states, a drop of lust in his voice.

"No, I'm pretty sure undercover work doesn't qualify as phone sex, sir."

"Does it count as role play?" Her eyebrow twitches at how eager he sounds.

"No, colonel, it does not count as role play."

"Can we have phone sex now?"

"No, we can not, sir." She answers, slightly alarmed by his request.

"Why can't we?"

She sighs, wondering why she needs to even answer his question or why he posed it in the first place. "Because, you're on a military line and you have work to finish."

"Can we role play then?"

With an exasperated huff and a roll of her eyes, she hangs up on him.

"Lieutenant, are you there? Lieutenant? Riza? Hello?" He waits for a moment, holding the silent receiver to his ear. "Does this mean we can't role play either?"


	3. Before Falling Asleep

And, this one is probably the least serious one in this batch. I went to karaoke with my friends before college started and this is the last song stuck in my head. DiCaprio was so young back then! 3 XD

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**Before Falling Asleep**

"What's the worst possible situation?" He asks, turning to look at her. They are in bed with the sheets pulled up over their heads, a warm cocoon shielding them from the frigid winter air in their apartment. He muses, "The worst possible date."

She nods expectantly, "Ever."

"Okay, okay. I got it. We are on the Titanic," she suppresses a giggle, "in our room, ship cabin, you know, whatever you call them and we're about to make love. For the first time."

"Oh god," she buries her face in her pillow as a faint blush creeps onto her cheeks.

"It gets better," trying to pull the pillow from her, he continues, "we're naked and we're gonna do it. And, then! And, then! The ship hits the iceberg."

"Oh my god, Roy," His body is quaking with laughter as she buries her face further into the pillow. "You're a terrible person."

"And, right before the ship breaks in half and we freeze to death in the ocean because we're naked the Celine Dion is going to start playing. How did it go again?" He squeezes his eyes shut and prods his brain for the tune. Finally, he exclaims, "Oh! I remember now!"

Shaking her head furiously, pillow pressed tightly to her body, she begs, "Roy, please don't! Please don't!"

In his best falsetto voice, he belts out the chorus, "_Near far, where ever you are! I believe that my heart does…go on! Once more, you open that door! And you're here in my heart,_" he grabs her hand and presses it to his heart in his mock singing, "_and my heart will go on and on! We'll stay forever this way. You're safe in my heart and my heart will...!_" He holds the note for an impressively long time.

There are tears in her amber eyes, maybe from laughter, maybe from something else, but he doesn't care as he wipes them away. Looking into her eyes, his fingers intertwining with hers, he uses his free hand to trace a heart across her chest. Gently, he finishes the song, "..._go on and on..._"

He mouths three silent words before closing his eyes and bringing his forehead to hers. She touches his face, her hand tracing his jaw line, the taut muscles of his neck, his broad shoulders and firm arms before coming to rest on his waist. Giving him a small peck on his lips before she closes her eyes, she mutters as they both fall asleep, "I love you, too."


	4. Battlefield

I saw this photograph of an Afghan military base under a night sky and it's stunning how clear everything in the night sky is, specially since I live in the city where you can't see stars at all.

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**Battlefield**

Beauty is not something Roy Mustang expects to find twice on a battlefield. Standing outside his tent, sandwiched between the Ishvallan sand beneath his feet, fine grained and smooth like flour, and the vast infinity of stars above his head, some so clear and so definite like individual crystals of sugar and others lost in the gradients of color formed by their collective light, he wants to cry. The desert flattens and spills past the edge of the earth, pulling away from him, expanding so far and so fast past him that it is as if God himself pushed him to kneel in the presence of such intense, unspeakable beauty. He wants to die beneath their silence and their austerity. He wants to reach out and dip his fingers in the stars and paint her name across the galaxies with their dark ink. He wants to save this night and let her see it, feel it, because this is how he feels every time he sees her.


	5. Scenery from a Car Seat

I had this one in my mind for a long time. If I didn't pick up the 100 themes project, it probably would have been a stand alone. XD

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**Scenery from a Car Seat**

She usually drives. He sits in the passenger seat, flicking through the file of some prospective new state alchemist and she drives. Once in a while, he rolls down his window, taking care to not lose any papers to the wind. The eastern countryside slips past his eyes, a kaleidoscope of colors, a blur of green fields, a splash of blue sky interrupted by the occasional spot of white clouds, like cotton soaking up the colors of the earth. The wind whispers across the open plains, singing, humming softly through the grass. The field breaks against the edge of the sky, expanding infinitely along the flat horizon, disappearing past the small frame of his car window.

"Hawkeye, let's get married." He says suddenly. "Let's buy a house out here and live together."

Her voice is even but the slight jerk the car gives belies her true reaction. "Please don't joke like that, sir."

_But I'm not joking_, he wants to say, _I want to live and die with you in a place like this: a place where there is nothing, no pain, no guilt, no regrets, a place where our past can't follow us, a place so quiet and empty, I can fill my entire world with only your face, your voice, just you. _

Instead, he chuckles, resting his chin against his knuckles as he flips through the rest of the file, "You're right, Lieutenant. I shouldn't. It's just scenery from a car seat."


	6. Fingertips

It's like my muse suddenly remembered that she has a job to do. I've written so much random crap this week. And I want to write more! Be prepared for more of my terrible sappy royai fanfics! =)

This was also an attempt at not writing dialogue. ^^;;;

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**Fingertips**

A coffee mug shatters on the kitchen floor, spilling coffee all over the white tiles. She is a bit clumsy, trying to cook in the cramped kitchen. Making a pouch with her apron, she gingerly collects the pieces of broken ceramic. She does not hear his keys turning the lock and his muffled footsteps entering the house. She does not see him bending down next to her, helping her clean up the broken mug. She only notices when her fingertips brush across his, holding onto the same piece of broken mug. Unconscious surprise forming across her face, she says his name. He smiles gently back at her. The feeling of his rough and calloused fingertips pressed against her own sends a jolt of realization through her. This is the first time she has ever touched him, her skin touching his skin at their fingertips, a small radius of contact connecting two people. Then she remembers that he is her father's student and she has just broken a mug and apologizes profusely.


End file.
